


As Saints Sleep

by muxing (orphan_account)



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Crimson Flower Route, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Light Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:01:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23745748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/muxing
Summary: It doesn’t seem right to celebrate his years when his lady was missing so many of her own. The war takes absolute precedence over Hubert's birthday. The Black Eagles disagree.
Relationships: Bernadetta von Varley & Hubert von Vestra, Caspar von Bergliez & Hubert von Vestra, Dorothea Arnault & Hubert von Vestra, Edelgard von Hresvelg & Hubert von Vestra, Ferdinand von Aegir & Hubert von Vestra, Linhardt von Hevring & Hubert von Vestra, Petra Macneary & Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 1
Kudos: 56
Collections: Ferdibert Birthday Bash 2020





	As Saints Sleep

Manuela and Hannerman had returned to the offices that they had held during their tenure at the Officer’s Academy. Naturally, that only left Seteth and Jeralt’s offices for the leaders of the Black Eagle Strike Force. Before Edelgard could say a word, Hubert had already moved most of his belongings into Jeralt’s old office. The guilt is not what the Emperor needed right now, especially when the missing Professor was not able to absolve her. 

Hubert pulls several strategy books from the shelves and piles them neatly onto the desk. He had already owned copies of these treatises, but Jeralt had a habit of annotating in his. He can’t replace Byleth’s instinct for tactics, but he can read the Blade Breaker’s notes from cover to cover. 

Idly, he turns to the magical gambit chapter in the Hresvelg treatise. A steady pen had methodically outlined terrain exceptions to certain strategies, and crossed out examples that were more grounded in theory than fact. What a waste. A lifetime of expertise, gone in an instant. And there will be even more casualties in the coming years. 

Behind him, someone knocks a couple of times on his door. Hubert wasn’t expecting any visitors. A spy probably wouldn’t be expecting the knife up his sleeve, either. He opens the door.

“Eeek! H-h-happy birthday, Hubert!” Bernadetta practically thrusts a potted plant into his hands. She was quick, and Hubert fumbles with the pot for a couple of scary seconds before he manages to grip it securely in his hands. He takes a careful look at the plant, which holds a wriggling fly between its spiked leaves. He turns to place the plant carefully on his desk. 

He didn’t have to ask how Bernadetta knew. The calendar of birthdays that the Professor had once kept in their room had been moved to the war room. The birthdays that coincided with war meetings would be received with a chorus of songs. Hubert was thankful that his birthday did not coincide with any meetings. He wonders if he would continue to be so lucky for the duration of the war.

“While your concern is appreciated,” He takes his chances on a small smile. “I do not require any recognition for being born.” If only more of his countrymen held similar attitudes, the Empire would be in a much better place.

There it is: Bernadetta looks like she’s thinking too much, like her mind is somewhere very, very far away from here. Hubert crosses his arms and waits patiently for her to return. His powers and talents are immense, but he doesn’t think that he could compete against Bernadetta’s imagination.

“Hubert, would you…” She exhales shakily. “Would you, um, caretohavesometeawithme?” 

He heard her correctly the first time, but he gives her a chance to change her mind. “Pardon?” 

“That’s a no, right? That’s definitely a no. I mean, you definitely have way more important things to do than drinking tea with Bernie.” She ducks as if Hubert was going to swat her. He does not. “Please, forget that I said anything!”

It’s true. The tasks of waging war, consolidating imperial power, and deposing traitors are endless. Bernadetta is asking him anyway. “What brought this on?” 

“The Professor would always have tea with us on our birthdays, but the school year ended a month early… ” Bernadetta risks glancing at his face. Hubert doesn’t smile, just in case it bore any resemblance to the Grin of Death. “It just doesn’t seem very fair that you didn’t get one last year.” 

Hubert had done everything in his power to ensure that the Imperial Army could successfully invade the Holy Tomb. Their class had him to thank for the cancellation of their joyous graduation, yet Bernadetta is the one feeling apologetic. This situation is all wrong. 

He sighs. “I believe that Hanneman keeps a tea set in his office.”

“Um… it’s your birthday, isn’t it? I’ll...I’ll go look for it!” She gives him a thumbs-up. Before Hubert could say another word, she dashes out of his office. He makes a concentrated effort to tidy the room in earnest, but his mind drifts to worrying about Bernadetta. Right on cue, something shatters in the hallway. From the open door, Hubert could hear the mutterings of “Stupid! Unmarriagable! Worthless!” 

He will write an apology for Hanneman later. First, the tea set.  
  


* * *

  
He should be asking Ferdinand about borrowing a tea set. He should, but he won’t. Their last disagreement in the war room had turned particularly sour, and Hubert couldn’t stand owing the man a favor, no matter how small it may be. The other candidate was Lorenz, but neither the Kingdom nor the Alliance commanders would be arriving until next month.

He would also not be asking to borrow the 600 year old Hresvelg porcelain for his own birthday tea. Bernadetta had already shattered five cups before tea time even began. No, it would have to be a more disposable set.

“A tea set? Hm… I suppose it would be entirely reasonable for me to own one.” 

What patience that Hubert has for Bernadetta, he does not have for Linhardt whatsoever.

“I asked you a yes or no question, Linhardt.”

“I gave mine away long ago. Brewing my own tea is far too much trouble. Tea tastes the best when it’s made by someone else.” In moments like these, Hubert wonders if Lindhardt would survive Edelgard’s reign in peacetime. The empire -- _her_ empire had no use for nobles whose only value lay in their ability to employ servants. “Say, Hubert. Shouldn’t you at least get a day off on your own birthday?” 

Hubert wasn’t expecting _this_ much fanfare about his birthday. He had spent his last birthday with masked mages at Lord Arundel’s request. By the time that he had returned to Enbarr, the Emperor was embroiled in a civil war against the Prime Minister’s loyalists. The war did not pause for either nostalgia or ceremony. He does not expect a millenium festival in four years. He certainly doesn’t expect a _birthday celebration_. 

Linhardt doesn’t know about his intentions with the tea set, but he bruised Hubert’s pride. No matter what, that requires an answer. He crosses his arms and attempts his most withering glare. “Believe it or not, Her Majesty allows me to operate with an immense amount of autonomy.”

Linhardt is as immune as ever. “So you’re _choosing_ to spend your birthday on prodding everyone in the army for a tea set? Hubert, that’s even worse.” He shakes his head. “You should spend your birthday on a nap. Or a fun and relaxing game of chess, I suppose.”

Hubert starts to seriously consider it. The Black Eagles Strike Force was already down one Byleth Eisner. If anything happened to him, then Edelgard would need at least one other strategic advisor. Maybe there was a way to trick Linhardt into taking strategy seriously. 

“It sounds like you’re offering to play a match with me, Linhardt.” Hubert chuckles. “Stay here. I know that you can’t be bothered to look for a chess set on your own.”

“Oh, you know me. I’m not going anywhere. Actually, I think i’m going to take a nap --” Hubert barely catches him before Linhardt falls to the floor. He lays the sleeping man on the floor (face down in the grass). 

* * *

  
Hubert returned to his office before lunchtime, but Bernadetta was nowhere to be seen. She was probably in her room, having had her daily fill of the outside world. He ducks inside of the office and pops open his travel trunk. His travel chess set should be nestled in one of the side compartments --

“Hubert!” Petra walks into the office confidently, but her steps are silent like a hunter’s. “Hubert, I have been hearing from Edelgard that you might be having grandfather’s letter.” 

He does. He’s read every single letter that leaves Garreg Mach. He usually took care to re-seal the letters, except for his former classmates’. It was a gesture of courtesy that few of them appreciated. 

As if the torn envelopes were not also an implicit threat.

Hubert walks over to his desk and pulls one of the side drawers open. It takes him all of fifteen seconds to find Petra’s letter. The envelope was fairly heavy, and the light brown fibers in the paper were clearly visible. “Is this your letter, Petra!”

She claps her hands together. “Yes Hubert! You are having my thanks for keeping it safe. Do not be worrying about the opening. You are making sure that our enemies will not be knowing about our situation, yes?” 

Hubert hands her the envelope. “I admit, I was not expecting you to be so… accommodating about having your letters read.” The children from noble families would usually throw a fit about their right to privacy. That is, until Hubert threatened to “lose” their letters entirely. 

Petra nods. “I have nothing to be hiding from you or Edelgard. Our monarchy is having much openness. Grandfather is always talking about policies with the households of heads. Even in the city’s square.”

Hubert couldn’t imagine it in Enbarr. Secrets were the primary currency in Adrestian politics, and anyone foolish enough to flaunt their intentions would lose influence to their rivals very quickly. House Vestra was not established as a military family. They were a family who followed silk threads in the dark. 

He is glad that the Empire had not changed Petra as deeply as it defined Edelgard.

“Hubert, I have heard that you are having a birthday?”

His birthday, again. Hubert suddenly feels like he’s aged several decades overnight. At least it’s Petra asking. “Yes?”

“Congrat...congratulations!” Petra’s smile is positively radiant. He prefers it to Bernadetta’s fear and Linhardt’s apathy. “I am understanding that we don’t have enough rations for a feast, but maybe we could start a dance in the meal hall?”

“I don’t dance, but thank you for your concern.”

“Oh! The feast is a reminder. Grandfather was wanting to send me dried meat from Brigid. Was there another envelope for me? I would be glad to share.”

He did not see any other package addressed to Petra. Brigid is a long ways’ off from most of the major routes in the Empire. There was a good chance that the delivery had been passed along by one of the merchants. Or rather, it was stolen by one of the merchants. This time, Hubert had good reason to allow his dislike of merchants to cloud his judgement. 

“Excuse me, Petra. ” Hubert rises from his desk. If the merchants were bold enough to take a package from Brigid royalty, then these were bold thieves indeed. They must have their licenses revoked. Immediately. “I will return with your grandfather’s gift shortly.”

* * *

It’s a fine day to reduce a grown man to tears. At least, Hubert thinks so.

The soldiers at the marketplace are careful to walk around Hubert and the man who is pleading mercy on his knees. One of the greener recruits stops to gape, and a well-meaning veteran pulls him away from the spectacle. They whisper: “It’s not worth it, trust me.” They walk very quickly, as if Hubert could turn around at any moment. He does not. 

Instead, a firm hand firmly grabs Hubert by the shoulder. 

“Hey! Stop bullying the poor guy and face me!” Hubert doesn’t so much as budge. He can tell that it’s Caspar. Everyone within fifty paces could tell that it’s Caspar.

“I haven’t bullied anyone. This merchant simply feels very… ” Hubert pauses. “... penitent about his crimes against the Empire.”

“Figures that it’s you...” Caspar starts gesturing with his hands, a hereditary trait of the Bergliez clan. “What’d he even do, forget to call Edelgard by her title or something?”

Hubert makes a fist. He didn’t like Caspar’s flippancy, but Her Majesty required capable generals more than she required proper address. For the moment.

“This _traitor_ has been shaving off our deliveries and selling them to the Church of Seiros for months. Not to mention the names of our suppliers.”

“What? For real?” His posture becomes more aggressive towards the unscrupulous merchant. “We can have cheats hanging around our base! Get ready to taste my fists!”

The man flings himself at Hubert’s feet, almost breaking his glasses in the process. “Mercy, sir! Mercy!”

Hubert smiles as he takes a deep bow. “He’s yours, Caspar.” He steps back gracefully. 

“No, please!”

The screams could be heard all the way from the courtyard.

* * *

Hubert could not find Petra when he returned to his office. Instead, Dorothea had been sitting there with an armful of flowers. She agreed to deliver the gift to Petra under one fiendish condition. 

Dorothea adds another blue violet to his flower crown. Enduring this indignity was made easier by the new stack of missives on his desk. Hubert picks up a silver letter opener and begins to work. Dorothea hums a light melody that stirs some dusty corner of Hubert’s memory. He was never a patron of the opera house, but Enbarr’s music was a part of its infrastructure, just like its arches, canals, and cobbled streets. It is a city that threaded even light and shadow, oil and flame, a songstress and an assassin.

“Oh, Hubie... I bet you’ve been so busy with the war effort that you’ve completely forgotten about your birthday. I talked to Edie about it, and she said that you can take the day off. You’re welcome, by the way.” 

Hubert did not _forget_ his own birthday any more than he forgot about the number of agents under his payroll. He valued Dorothea as an important member of the Black Eagle Strike Force. He truly did. But he would like her a lot more if she stopped assuming some deeply pitiable quality about him.

“ _Her Majesty_ is aware that my birthday is the seventeenth of the Great Tree Moon.” He couldn’t do anything about the flowers in his hair, but he could make sullen faces that frightened some of the younger recruits. “Our understanding runs deeper than yearly gifts of cake and flowers.” 

Dorothea is quiet as she threads another stem of baby’s breath between the violets. Never for long. “You know, it’s not _selfish_ to want something nice for yourself. We’re not going to think that you’re somehow less devoted to this war if you took your birthday off to go fishing. Or if you stuffed your face with cake.”

“No.”

“You know, I bet _that’_ s why you’re not spending your birthday with Edie. I bet you kept slipping away every time she tried to plan something nice for you.” Hubert neither confirms or denies it. She sighs. “That’s not how you should treat someone who cares about you, Hubie.”

No, it’s not. But the distant loyalty is something that her war requires. Mercifully, distant loyalty is something that he can still give. 

“There! I’m all done.” Dorothea steps back and walks to the other side of Hubert’s desk to admire her diabolic handiwork.The flowers might have looked beautiful on someone else’s head. Hubert waits for Dorothea’s laughter, but it never comes.

Instead, she picks up the parcel that she had promised to pass off to Petra. “Promise me that you’ll go see Edie tonight? Please?”

Hubert dips his pen into an inkwell and begins to pen a report. “I don’t need to make any promises. Her Majesty requires daily updates about the situation at the eastern border.”

“It’s not about what she _requires_ , it’s about how you treat her when she’s trying to be your friend!”

Right on time, one of Hubert’s agents arrives with a message for him. She freezes when she sees the flower crown on Hubert’s head, but she doesn’t dare to comment. Hubert waves Dorothea out of his office.

“Please excuse us. This report is confidential.” It’s not.

Dorothea is a smart woman. She probably knew a convenient dismissal when she heard one. She grabs a handful of papers, throws them at Hubert’s face, and angrily stomps out of the room. 

* * *

He doesn’t have many daylight hours left. Though Hubert had been _distracted_ for most of the morning, there was little that he could do about the lack of progress against the Alliance. He _could_ start a new propaganda campaign or finance higher base pay at diminishing rates of return, but invading outright might produce precariously uncertain results. 

Without the Professor’s precognitive abilities, Hubert would not sell _uncertain_ results to Edelgard _._ Until her victory was certain, he would tinker with the continent endlessly until -

Hunger, sleep deprivation, and every manner of _inconvenience_ hits him at once. He had managed to pass the meal hall at least two times this morning. Both times, he had not thought about taking a fruit with him. His body punishes him more efficiently than any concerned lecture about his health. His skull pulsates with psychic pain. 

He plants his face into a page of wet ink. As light filters through the window behind him, Hubert sleeps. 

Several hours later, he wakes to the warm glow of sunset.

He hears footsteps coming towards his door. They don’t sound like Edelgard, so he allows himself this indignity. As a birthday treat. His office door opens. 

“My Lord? Lord Vestra, are you… oh goddess, someone’s poisoned Lord Vestra!” 

_Flames_. It’s Fleche. Hubert raises his head from his desk immediately. She doesn’t react well to the sight of his ghastly appearance, the flower petals scattered around his desk, and the smudged letters printed on his face. Fleche screams like she’s seen a spectre. A spectre of the former Minister of the Imperial Household. 

He doesn’t have the opportunity to (non-lethally) silence Fleche before her screams attract a knight in shining armor. 

“Fleche, are you alright--” Ferdinand rushes in with his fists raised, ready to beat back the miscreant who would ambush a lady in Jeralt’s old office. He stares blankly at the anxious creature before him. “...Hubert?” 

He snarls with all the hostility of a cornered, starving animal. “ _Get out of my office._ ”  
  


* * *

  
Fleche had provided Hubert a Noa fruit to gnaw on, but Ferdinand had insisted on taking him to the dining hall. Hubert cooperated reluctantly, as his work would clearly benefit from at least one meal a day.

He would have been in a better mood if Ferdinand was not lecturing him the entire time, but he’s making the best out of his circumstances.

“- not sure what you were thinking, hiding in your office through four meals. Four!” Ferdinand shakes his head. “We were fortunate that you had not assassinated Fleche for waking you up.”

“Funny. I don’t recall ever assassinating people by accident.” 

“My mistake, Hubert. You usually assassinate them on purpose.” He draws out the last word, as if Hubert might miss _exactly_ what Ferdinand thought about his dealings in the shadows. 

Hubert doesn’t have a rebuttal for the truth. Instead, he’s still combing flower petals out of his hair. Eventually, they reach the warm glow of the dining hall. A significant bulk of the Imperial Army would regularly drill formations before dinner. They probably had about an hour before the soldiers returned. The tables were fairly empty, and the sizzling sounds of hot oil could be heard from the kitchen. 

“Wait here, Hubert. I shall return with whatever the cooks can spare.” 

There would be no preferences in a war. Hubert nods approvingly. 

In a few minutes, Ferdinand would reappear with plates of sauteed fish. The aroma of spice and savory oil was immobilizing. Hubert almost forgets that his dining partner was less than ideal. Almost. 

A small detail bothers him. The cooks liked to rotate the menu, and he could have sworn that they had served trout only a couple of nights ago.

“I didn’t see anyone poison the food, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

And so it starts. Hubert digs into the tender fish with his fork. 

“If my life depended on your powers of observation, then it would be very short indeed.”

“Your life would be even shorter if I hadn’t intercepted that sniper from last week.” 

“And by doing so, you broke the formation that would have ended the skirmish much sooner.” 

The Professor is no longer here to stop them from bickering to their hearts’ content. Perhaps this was Ferdinand’s true aim. He _did_ enjoy listening to the sound of his own voice.

“You assume that the battle would have gone exactly according to your plans. That is not always the case. Do you not think that your strategy was reckless?”

“Drawing out the battle would have cost us more casualties.” He doesn’t know why he’s justifying himself to Ferdinand, a man who had never shouldered responsibility beyond his own battalion. “All the same, thank you for your initiative.” If the arrow had pierced his skull, then Lady Edelgard would have been left with no advisor, no bloody knives cutting in the dark. 

Ferdinand looked like he had something else to say, but Hubert’s lack of bite had clearly disarmed him. “I, uh… You are welcome, Hubert. Really, I would have intervened for any of our fellow soldiers.” 

An awkward silence hangs between them, and Ferdinand tries to eat while the argument is suspended. Hubert bites down on a fish bone. He spits it into a napkin. Heh. How sloppy. It must have been one of the newer cooks. 

The clanking sound of armored footsteps announce the soldiers’ arrival from infantry drills. “I would love to hear more about how poorly I have been managing this army, but I must give my report to Her Majesty. Excuse me.”

He warps out without another word. With Hubert out of earshot, the soldiers start grousing about meal rations. “Aw, turnip stew? That’s not what anyone wants to eat after a full day of training...”

* * *

Hubert warps in front of a darkened audience chamber, where he was supposed to meet Lady Edelgard. The room shouldn’t be dark at this hour, or at _any_ hour. He unsheathes the dagger from his belt. 

“Hubert.” 

He turns around at the sound of Edelgard’s voice, a merciful assurance that she had not been ambushed in the audience chamber. He lowers his blade, but he does not return it to its sheath. Not yet. Hubert bows deeply for his emperor. “Your Majesty. I will find someone to light the candles immediately.”

“There’s no need. I came to make sure that you didn’t ambush Dorothea in the dark. That would be a very poor start to a birthday celebration.”

He stills. “Lady Edelgard?”

A chorus of voices. “Surprise!” 

Several flashes of light erupted in the audience hall, which Hubert instantly recognized as the Sagittae spell. Beneath the deadly rays of light, an entourage of even deadlier friends.

“I can’t believe our very own Hubie is now twenty-two! Now that the light show was over, Dorothea began conjuring flame for the ceiling candles. “This was all Edie’s idea, so you better stick around, hm?”

“Geez, I wish that you said something earlier.” Caspar runs up with a gaudy birthday hat, which Hubert skillfully dodges without the use of Warp. “Hey Lin, give me a hand here!” For the first time, Hubert is grateful that Lindhardt is napping against a table. His cheeks start to warm rapidly when he realizes that the table was stacked with presents, cakes, and a personalized card. 

Edelgard laughs for the first time that she has in weeks, and the sound crushes Hubert’s resolve. He allows the birthday hat to be placed upon his head. 

“On your birthday, you are outranking even Edelgard.” The words would have been blasphemous, if they had not come from a foreign princess. “Have pride, Hubert. All of your years are small victories.”

“Thank you, Petra.” He grits out the words so that he doesn’t have to linger on the subject. So that he doesn’t have to think about the number of birthdays that he might have without Edelgard. It doesn’t seem right to celebrate his years when his lady was missing so many of her own. 

Dorothea sighs, and then stomps over to the hallway. “Ferdie, stop hiding out here. You’re as much of a conspirator in “Operation Distract Hubert” as the rest of us.”

“I was not hiding! I simply wanted to ensure that this celebration would be a peaceful one. Without our bickering, I mean.”

Caspar rolls his eyes. “Like you guys didn’t spend dinner shouting about something that you actually agreed on?” 

“Um, Hubert... “ Hubert glances down and realizes that he completely forgot about the tea with Bernadetta. She doesn’t seem angry when she hands him the card. “I drew this for you, but it’s signed by all of us!” 

On the front: a rather flattering portrait of Hubert, complete with an unnervingly lifelike scowl. 

On the back: well-wishes from every member of the Black Eagle Strike Force at Garreg Mach. 

What did Ferdinand once call him? Oh yes, an ‘overgrown bat.’ He wants to become one at this very moment so that he may disappear into the rafters. Edelgard puts a timely hand on his shoulder. “Please, Hubert. Whatever _time-sensitive reports_ you have can wait until tomorrow. Stay and celebrate with us.”

Hubert looks at the expectant faces around him. He hates to admit it, but his classmates had him soundly beaten. 

“Very well. If Her Majesty does not have any objections, then neither do I.”

**Author's Note:**

> I am two days late, but this was written for #TwoJewelsBirthday2020. I wanted to make this fic more ship-focused, but things didn't quite pan out, haha.
> 
> Comments are appreciated :)


End file.
